


Mirror Image

by Nos4a2no9



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-09
Updated: 2008-02-09
Packaged: 2018-11-10 22:52:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11136285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nos4a2no9/pseuds/Nos4a2no9
Summary: There was something screwy with a universe that would put a guy like Fraser with a guy like Ray.





	Mirror Image

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Mirror Image

## Mirror Image

  
by Nos4a2no9  


Author's Notes: Many thanks to Sprat, Berty, Llassah and JS Cavalcante for a terrific beta job. Additional thanks to JS for the original idea about Ray's, err, issues with his manhood.

Story Notes: Written for the 2007 due South Seekrit Santa gift exchange. Merry Christmas, Spuffyduds!

* * *

****

Mirror Image

Ray liked The Cat and Fiddle, and it wasn't just because they kept great draft   
beer on tap, or had a killer 99-cent-wings special on Thursday nights. He liked   
the bar because of the clientele.

The guys at the Fiddle were older than a typical meat-market crowd. They were   
there to watch hockey or basketball, maybe shoot a game of pool, and get drunk.   
It wasn't really a cruising bar even though, yeah, Ray had picked up a couple of   
guys there and put in some time in the cheap motel a couple of blocks over. The   
Fiddle was a safe place, quiet and low-key. No dance floor, no techno, no twenty-  
something guys in eyeliner who stripped down to their thongs by 10pm. No long,   
tense moment of assessment, of waiting for that quick up-and-down glance   
before the guy he'd been eyeing all night shook his head and turned, melting   
back into the crowd on the dance floor.

Yeah, Ray really liked the Fiddle a lot, mainly because it cut down on all that   
Halsted bullshit, the revolving door of rejection that spun faster and faster the   
closer he got to forty. He'd been going to the Fiddle for years, ever since the   
divorce, and he figured that if he liked the bar, maybe Fraser would, too.

They'd gone to a hockey game that Friday night, Hawks vs. Leafs, and it'd been   
a pretty good game. He and Fraser had yelled themselves hoarse, Ray'd eaten   
two hot dogs, and Fraser had only sulked a little when the Hawks won 4-3.

Normally--even though they'd only been fucking for about two weeks,   
they already had a routine--he and Fraser would have gone back to his place to   
make out for a while before getting each other off. Perfect way to start the   
weekend, to Ray's way of thinking.

But instead he turned to Fraser as they left the United Center and said, "Feel like   
going somewhere? I'm still a little wired."

Fraser had frowned, a little furrow appearing between his brows. "If you like," he   
said slowly, "I'd just hoped that we would be--well, I'd hoped that we would-"   
and he couldn't quite make himself finish it. Ray grinned because Christ, Fraser   
was beautiful when he was uncertain.

Not that that was news, because Fraser was gorgeous pretty much all of the   
time, even when he was being annoying as hell. But it was the kind of thing that   
snuck up behind Ray sometimes with a big damn club and laid him out flat:   
Benton Fraser was really, really beautiful. All he had to do was tilt his head a   
certain way, or put a hand on Ray's shoulder to say something, and Ray would   
feel the whole world grind to a halt. He'd tune out everything until he could focus   
on Fraser's lips, or his blunt, square hand, or the weird scar on his cheek just   
above his jaw. He'd stare and think about how it all fit together, how all these   
parts of Fraser made up the whole. Dry elbows and ticklish knees; a thick cock   
and smoke-grey eyes and a mouth that went up a little more on one side when   
Fraser smiled. It scared him sometimes, how much he loved each and every part   
of Fraser. How much he loved the whole picture.

But he didn't want to make Fraser suffer, so he said, softly, "I know a place. We   
won't stay long."

"As you like." Fraser had just smiled back at him, and wow, that had felt pretty   
great, Fraser trusting him like that.

The Fiddle was packed, even for a Friday, and Ray had to squeeze and twist his   
way through all the guys crowded around the bar to get himself a beer and   
Fraser a cranberry juice. Fraser had managed to score them a table near the   
back, and Ray carried the drinks carefully, bobbing and weaving so he didn't   
knock into anyone. Lot of good-looking guys in here tonight. He wondered if there   
was some kind of "Handsome as Fuck? Get a Free Beer!" contest going on. If so,   
Fraser was a shoe-in, no question.

Somebody was in Ray's seat. The guy was one of the too-good-looking types   
(definitely not a Fiddle regular), and he was sitting across from Fraser with his   
long, muscular legs folded up awkwardly under the little table. He was a big man,   
broad shoulders, dark hair, killer smile. Looked a little familiar, but Ray couldn't   
quite place him.

Ray felt a slow, sick tightening in his gut. He stepped back against the wall so   
he'd be out of the flow of the bar traffic, and watched. Fraser was saying   
something to the guy, talking with his hands like he did when he felt comfortable   
with someone. Fraser wasn't a big hand-talker, normally, but he seemed to be   
really getting into his story. The big guy was smiling and nodding and--fuck--  
 _licking_ his lips. He leaned in toward Fraser and kept spreading his knees   
wider, wide as they'd go in the small space under the table, and Fraser...well, it   
was tough to tell, since Ray was looking at the back of Fraser's head, but his   
body language was loose and relaxed, his knee brushing the other guy's every   
so often as he illustrated some part of his story. And it was probably a fair bet   
that his story wasn't about caribou.

That sick-tight feeling in his stomach got worse, and Ray set the drinks down on   
the sticky barroom floor, breathing in through his nose. He swallowed back   
against the nausea rising in his throat until he felt well enough to make it to the   
bathroom. The stall on the left was empty and he shut himself inside the tiny   
space, banging his head against the door a couple of times to stop the dizziness.   
He would not do this. He would not. Lip-Licking Guy was probably just asking   
Fraser for the time. Or he'd stopped by to ask for some tips on wilderness   
survival, or something.

Or maybe Fraser was interested. Maybe a guy like that--built like a brick house,   
face like a movie star's--appealed to him. After all, it wasn't like Fraser was   
married to Ray, or anything. They'd had sex ten times: twice in the GTO, twice on   
the couch in his apartment, and four times in Ray's bedroom. And it was good.   
Real good. The kind of good people wrote songs about. But maybe it hadn't been   
good for Fraser. He hadn't ever said-

Ray heard the door swing open. The noise from the busy bar filled the small   
men's room for a second until the door closed over it again. Two guys, from the   
sound of it.

"Crazy night, huh?" one of them said. Ray thought he recognized the voice. It   
sounded like Tommy Ellison, one of the regulars. He'd played pool with Tommy,   
won money off him.

"Yeah," said the other guy. Ray didn't recognize his voice but knowing how   
Tommy's tastes ran, he was probably great-looking, the kind of guy who didn't   
usually set foot in the Fiddle.

"You see who Kowalski came in with?"

"Maybe," said Tommy's friend, and okay, Ray knew him. Devon Anderson.   
They'd gotten together last Thanksgiving. Or Ray had given him a blowjob,   
anyway, in the bathroom of the Fiddle. He'd been in bad shape then, totally hung   
up on Fraser, willing to break every vice code in the book if it meant he didn't   
have to think about how much he loved his straight partner. Devon had been nice   
about it, and he'd let Ray down easy after Ray spat and wobbled to his feet.

"Wanna watch the game at my place?" Ray'd asked, trying to smile, trying not to   
sound so damn pathetic. Devon had avoided his eyes and quietly explained that   
he didn't date white guys.

Except here he was, going into a stall with Tommy Ellison, who was Irish as they   
came and apparently had a regular thing with Devon.

Fuck. Ray didn't need this tonight.

"That guy's something else, huh?"

"Yeah," Tommy agreed, the sound of his zipper loud in the tiny bathroom.   
"Professional, you think?"

"I wouldn't put it past Kowalski," Devon chuckled. Asshole. "And if he's not paid   
company, well... I can see how a twitchy, ADD closet case like Kowalski would   
be a big selling point. And damn, that new guy is gorgeous. He could do a hell of   
a lot better. Maybe it's just a mercy fuck."

Tommy barked a laugh. "Yeah, poor ol' Kowalski. Now," Tommy said, apparently   
remembering that he had better things to do than talk about than Ray's love life,   
"you made me a promise, earlier."

And then there were only the soft, quiet sounds of a blowjob, and Tommy   
Ellison's low moans. Ray fled the bathroom.

Fraser was alone at the table, thank God, although when he thought to check   
Ray counted at least four other guys trying to catch Fraser's eye as they circled   
around the room. Fraser did a weird half-standing thing when he thought Ray   
was going to throw himself down into the unoccupied chair, but he sat back down   
quickly and blinked when he saw Ray wasn't going to sit, and that he wasn't   
carrying any drinks.

"Ray? What's wrong? You're sweating."

"Nothing, nothing." Ray waved the question away, shifting his weight from foot to   
foot. "I wanna go. Can we go?"

"Actually," Fraser said, scanning the crowded barroom, "I bumped into an old   
friend. He's only in Chicago for a single night and he's invited us out with him."

For a second Ray felt a flicker of hope. Us? That was good, right? Like, Fraser   
and Ray out on the town with Fraser's old friend? Except no. No, it was not good.   
That was just Fraser being polite, asking Ray along to be a third wheel as he   
hung out with Mr. Lip-Licking Guy. He'd heard enough of Stella's halfhearted   
invitations to come out with her lawyer pals to know when he wasn't really   
wanted.

"I'm not feeling too good," Ray said softly, miserably. "Those hotdogs at the   
game were probably a bad idea."

Fraser stood up, checking Ray's pupils and gently stroking Ray's cheek with the   
back of his hand. Ray sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes, shaking off   
that warm, fluttery feeling that surged through him whenever Fraser so much as   
touched him. Fraser was probably just checking his temperature, anyway. "I did   
try to warn you."

"Yeah," Ray said, pulling away. "I never listen." He wanted to get the hell out of   
the Fiddle and this part of Chicago and back to his apartment where he could fall   
apart in privacy. "Sorry. You go on ahead with your buddy."

A strange, unreadable expression flickered over Fraser's face. Disappointment,   
maybe. He'd stopped smiling at Ray and now looked hurt, and for a second Ray   
was a little worried that he'd misread things. But Ray was not interested in sitting   
around all night and watch Fraser flirt with some old friend of his. He wasn't   
nearly that masochistic.

"Have a good time," Ray told him, and stuck his hands in his pockets, not looking   
back as he headed out of the bar.

*********

When he got back to his apartment Ray sat for a long time in the dark, watching   
shadows shift and change as they climbed the ceiling. Two weeks. That was all   
he'd had with Fraser. A few dinners out, one hurried hand job, a couple of truly   
spectacular blowjobs, and then four mornings of waking up with Fraser in his   
bed, in his arms. Everything had felt so good. So right.

He'd woken up early those mornings just to watch Fraser sleep. The soft sunlight   
had made Fraser's skin glow, and he'd looked like an angel, or a saint. Beautiful   
and perfect, and Ray could hardly believe this guy wanted to be with _him_ ,   
wanted to kiss him and touch him and wake up with him.

He couldn't...fuck, he couldn't think about this. It was like Stella 2.0. And why the   
hell did he keep falling for people who were totally out of his league?

Ray went to the kitchen to grab a beer, and then flipped on the late-late news,   
not really registering what was on the screen for a few seconds. After he'd taken   
a sip and finally glanced at the TV he felt the beer swirl in his stomach. Goddamn   
it.

Lip-Licking Guy was on the late news. They were running B-roll footage of some   
pickup hockey game downtown, poor kids from the projects wearing brand new   
skates zipping around with Lip Guy. Mark Smithbauer, former defenseman for   
the Chicago Stars. And Christ, of course he was a friend of Fraser's. Of course.   
Ray should have put it together sooner, but then he'd never been a big Stars fan.

"Smithbauer's new charity organization seeks to provide uniforms and equipment   
to underprivileged children in Chicago's worst neighbourhoods," the reporter was   
saying. "In addition, the former NHL All-Star is working to draw attention to   
organized gambling in professional sports."

The camera cut to a press conference with Smithbauer, who sat behind a long   
bank of microphones and smiled at the camera. He knew how to work the press,   
no question. "Illegal gaming is a real problem in pro hockey," he told the group of   
reporters. The flash of the cameras didn't seem to bother Smithbauer; he just   
kept talking in a level voice. "I've been speaking about this with the Canadian media   
as well, and I think it's important to get this whole issue out there. Throw some   
light on it. Yes, I was asked to throw a game two years ago, and yes, I took the   
money. That's old news. What I'd like to do now, what I'd like to devote my life to,   
is ridding the hockey world of this kind of pressure. It's unfair to the fans, and it's   
unfair to the players. I-"

Ray snapped the TV off and hurled the remote at the screen. Fuck. Not only was   
Lip Guy--Smithbauer--great-looking, but he was some kind of crusader for   
underprivileged kids and on a mission to clean up pro hockey. Perfect for Fraser,   
in other words. Because Fraser deserved to be with someone who was just as   
dedicated to solving the world's problems.

And that was the problem. That was why Ray knew things ultimately wouldn't   
work out with Fraser. The problem with Fraser being so fucking beautiful, so   
perfect and good and generous and kind, was that it made Fraser a Somebody.   
Hell, Fraser was probably the original model for a Somebody, the example of   
whatever it was a guy was supposed to act like and look like and be like. And   
Somebodies didn't end up with Nobodies. He had the divorce papers to prove it.

So there was something screwy with a universe that would put a guy like Ray   
with a guy like Fraser. Ray knew he looked like a Nobody. It was a problem, like   
it'd been with Stella. At parties people used to ask Stella to point out her   
husband, and when she did, he'd overhear the other lawyer or accountant say,   
"What, behind the waiter?"

He wasn't beautiful like Devon Anderson, or stacked like Mark Smithbauer. And he wasn't on a quest to save the world from murderers and litterbugs. Hell, most of the time he wasn't even sure he wanted to be a cop. There was no way a Nobody like Ray Kowalski should end up with a Somebody like Benton Fraser.

So Ray figured that he and Fraser were doomed.

It took him all night to decide how to explain it. Fraser was Canadian and Ray   
suspected he wouldn't understand. He even thought Fraser might give him some   
well-intended but utterly meaningless speech about equality and how people had   
good qualities and bad qualities and that it balanced out in the end and yadda   
yadda yadda. Ray didn't think he could handle a Fraser-sermon while he was   
trying to break up with the guy. So he called Fraser and left a message on the   
Consulate's machine. It was four in the morning and Fraser would have picked   
up if he was there. So he was still out with his pal Smithbauer. Ray tried not to let   
that knowledge hurt.

"Hey Frase, sorry I bailed on you," he said when the machine beeped. "Come by tomorrow night around six, okay?"

He kept himself busy most of Saturday, and did his best to ignore Fraser's   
phonecalls. He did listen to the two messages that Fraser left, but it hurt to hear   
that strong, steady voice come out of the machine and think about the happy little   
hitch that had been in Fraser's breathing the first time he'd kissed Ray.

Fraser's messages on the machine didn't sound guilty, just kind of bland. "Hello   
Ray. I'm taking Diefenbaker for a run and I was hoping you would join us   
afterwards for lunch. Please call me back at the Consulate." And, later, sounding   
even more bland, "Ray, please return my call."

Ray didn't call back. He sobered up, and did some stuff around the apartment.   
He cooked a good meal, put on a new shirt (with buttons, and a collar) and   
rehearsed his speech in the big full-length mirror in the hallway, just like Robert   
DeNiro. Well, not _just_ like Robert DeNiro. He didn't have a mohawk and   
he wasn't insane. He hoped.

"It's not working out, okay?" Ray told his reflection. "Someday you're going to   
realize that you could do a lot better. And I can't wait around for you to buy a   
clue. So let's end it. We can still be buddies, partners. I just don't think I'll be   
able to handle it when you finally figure out I'm wrong for you."

There. Ray sagged against the mirror, resting his forehead against the cool   
glass. He closed his eyes. "I couldn't handle it," he said to himself.

Dinner was ready. He could smell the spaghetti sauce burning.

*********

Fraser broke into a wide, happy smile the second Ray opened the door, and Ray   
had another one of those clubbed-over-the-head moments where he couldn't   
breathe for a second because Fraser was so beautiful. Fraser was wearing a   
blue button-down shirt, jeans, and that butter-soft leather jacket that made Ray's   
knees go a little wobbly. He'd actually...Christ, it was embarrassing, but he'd   
actually had a fantasy about Fraser wearing that jacket (and nothing else) while   
fucking Ray on the futon in Ray's living room, his hips pumping hard under the   
hem of that soft, chocolate-coloured jacket.

Ray tried to swallow past the tightness in his throat and made a half-hearted   
attempt to return Fraser's smile. He waved Fraser inside.

"Glad you could make it," he muttered.

"Thank you kindly, Ray." Fraser didn't say it with his usual enthusiasm. In fact,   
Fraser looked like he already knew there was something wrong. Which was bad.   
Ray didn't want Fraser on edge through this whole dinner, turning things over in   
his mind, maybe planning some kind of advance rebuttal. No, he needed to catch   
Fraser by surprise. Maybe it wasn't sporting, or whatever, but Ray knew if he   
gave Fraser a chance to talk him out of it he'd succeed, and then Ray'd be right   
back at square one, expecting that at any second Fraser would figure out he was   
too good for Ray and hightail it outta there to be with someone better, like   
Smithbauer. Which would kill Ray.

So. Ray couldn't let Fraser figure out anything was wrong. Which meant that Ray   
had to act natural.

"Fraser, uh, can you set the table?"

In retrospect the table, utensils and dishes probably tipped Fraser off to the fact   
that something wasn't kosher. Hell, the fact that Ray had cooked at all was   
probably an indication that either the world was ending or that Ray wanted to   
have an Important Conversation. As he finished stirring the sauce for the pasta   
Ray thought about all the times Stella had cooked for him. Each and every time   
he'd known that either it was good news ("I got into law school!" "I've thought   
about it, and...what the hell, let's get married!") or really, really bad news ("I don't   
think we're ready to have children, Ray." "It's not working." "Ray, please stop   
coming over. I can't do this anymore.") But Fraser had never been married.   
Fraser had never even dated anyone, unless you counted the bank robber chick.   
Which Ray did not. And he hoped Fraser didn't, either.

So maybe Fraser didn't know that when the person you're fucking invites you   
over to have dinner (that they cooked, even though they don't cook) and puts on   
a new shirt (with a collar and buttons, even though they hate those kind of shirts)   
and uses the good china (or, hell, china, instead of paper plates) something was   
definitely hinky.

He'd feel sorry for the guy if he wasn't so sure that he was saving Fraser a lot of   
wasted time and effort.

"So, you have a good day?" Ray put the pot of spaghetti on the table, which   
wobbled a little. One leg was shorter than the rest. Fuck, he was such a loser.   
Even his table wasn't a model of a table.

"I did, thank you. Dief and I went for a run in the park and I returned some books   
to the library. I'm sorry you weren't available for lunch."

Ray winced a little at that. He should have picked up the phone. But he'd needed   
some time to get his head together, and hanging out at the deli down the street   
from the Consulate would have been a recipe for disaster. Fraser would have   
been all sweaty from his run. He would have been dressed in a t-shirt and shorts   
and running shoes, and his hair would have been mussed, and his face would   
have been flushed, and he would have smelled fantastic, sweaty and hot and a   
little musky. And all of it--all of it--would have worn away at Ray's precious self-  
control. Because after lunch Fraser would have said something like, "Would you   
care to accompany me back to the Consulate, Ray?" and no way could Ray turn   
down an offer like that. So, passive-aggressive mode.

"Yeah, well, I had things to do." Ray waved around his apartment. The place   
was actually semi-clean for once. He'd vacuumed and dusted and even moved   
the couch to get at all the little dust bunnies hiding back there. He'd found a   
couple of empty condom wrappers, too, from their first couple of times on the   
couch, but he hadn't wanted to throw the wrappers out. He'd set them on the   
bookshelf instead, and dusted around them.

It had been a weird kind of day.

"You need a spoon?"

It was a dumb question. Fraser had set the table, so of course there was already   
a spoon there: in fact, there were two spoons, and three kinds of forks, two   
different knives, and napkins (Ray'd made him use paper towels, because cloth   
ones would have been a big neon sign blinking, "Something's WRONG!") which   
Fraser'd folded perfectly in half.

Ray squeezed his eyes shut. He was acting like a nutjob.

"I'm fine, thank you. Ray, is something the matter? You seem" and Fraser   
looked pointedly around the clean, uncluttered apartment, "a little on-edge."

"Yeah, I'm good." Ray took a big gulp of beer. He'd bought a twelve-pack for   
himself and some grape juice for Fraser, and he'd already finished off two beers   
before Fraser had shown up. "How'd things go with your friend last night?"

Fraser paused and seemed to consider the question, sipping at his grape juice.   
"It was good to see Mark again. He's had a very difficult time of late, but I think   
he's finally found some sort of peace. It was quite a surprise to see him in the   
bar last night."

"I'll bet," Ray said under his breath. Fraser heard it, of course, and frowned. "You   
and him been good buddies for a long time, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that." Fraser picked up his fork and put it down right away, rubbing   
at his eyebrow. "We were good friends a long time ago. We didn't speak for a   
number of years but met by chance here in Chicago. Of course, that was-"

"That's good," Ray said, cutting him off. He knew it was rude, but he couldn't   
bear to hear Fraser wax poetic about some hockey player he was in love with.   
He scowled down at his plate, stabbing at his spaghetti with his fork. The fucking   
sauce was terrible.

"Ray, if something's bothering you it might be a good idea to-"

"Fraser, it's fine. I'm fine, you're fine, we're fine. Eat your dinner."

Fraser frowned and used that slightly pissed-off, slightly confused voice he'd   
spent years perfecting with the wolf. "Ray, what's the matter? What aren't you   
telling me?"

Ray dropped his fork. It glanced off his plate with a faint _tink_ and fell to the   
floor. He felt his face heat up and he started to sweat a little under the stupid   
shirt. He resisted the urge to run a finger under his collar. "Nothing."

Fraser didn't look convinced. He folded his arms across his chest and leaned   
back in his chair, his knee brushing against Ray's underneath the table. Ray tried   
to pretend Fraser hadn't done it deliberately. That'd be dirty pool.

"Something on your mind?"

"I could ask you the same question," Fraser said quietly, "but I suspect you   
wouldn't give me an honest response."

Ray shot out of his chair and jabbed a finger at Fraser's stupid broad chest. "You   
calling me a liar, Fraser?"

"No. I'm simply suggesting that something is bothering you, and you're reluctant   
to tell me what it is." Fraser still looked calm but there was something in his   
voice, in his eyes, that said he was afraid. Afraid of what Ray was going to say.

Fuck, he couldn't do this. He couldn't do this to Fraser. The guy had had shitty   
luck with people and it wasn't his fault he was way out of Ray's league. That was   
Ray's problem.

And he could do this, could play this part. He could be with Fraser and know all   
along that it was going to end badly. He could just watch and wait until Fraser   
found Miss (or Mr.) Right and let Fraser be the one to break it off. At least then   
Fraser wouldn't feel like he'd fucked up with yet another person.

Ray wondered if there was some way to explain what he'd been thinking without   
making it sound like he didn't want them to be together. Because that wasn't it.   
Ray loved Fraser. Maybe he hadn't told him that yet, but he loved being with him,   
loved fucking him, loved working with him. It was just that, well, they wouldn't last. Even if Fraser wasn't interested in this Smithbauer guy, he deserved to be with someone   
who wouldn't freak out over stupid shit all the time. Enough bad stuff had   
happened to Fraser without Ray popping up to pile more on.

"Hey, Fraser," Ray said, putting his hand on Fraser's big, warm shoulder. "I'm   
sorry, okay? I know I've been acting weird tonight. Don't worry about it. Let's   
just watch TV, or something."

"I'd rather talk."

Ray bit back a groan. That was the kiss of death. Stella had used that same line   
on him lots of times. No way was he getting out of this now without having to   
explain everything.

"Fine," he sighed, dumping the rest of his uneaten dinner in the trash. He stuck   
some of the spaghetti in a Tupperware container for Fraser to take back for Dief.   
Might be a while before he'd see the furball again.

Fraser helped him clean up and they did the dishes in silence. They still moved   
well together, keeping out of each other's way, Fraser handing him each dish to   
wash in sequence so the water didn't get too dirty before he did the big pans.   
While Fraser finished drying, Ray put some water on for tea and opened one last   
bottle of beer.

Okay, time to talk. Fraser had settled himself on the couch. He was sitting right in   
the corner of the futon, his back ramrod straight, his knees together. Ray was so   
used to seeing off-duty Fraser sprawled out in bed, or relaxed beside him   
watching a game, that Ray had almost forgotten Fraser could be so stiff. He sat   
down next to him and put his hand on Fraser's thigh. Fraser tensed beneath him   
and Ray moved his hand to the neutral space between them.

"Hey," he said quietly. "Relax, okay?"

"You first."

"Fair enough." Ray did his best impression of a guy in a state of blissful   
relaxation. He slumped down a little on the couch, spread his legs wide, and   
laced his hands together over his belly. Just like he was watching a game. Or   
porn, like in the years After Stella and Before Fraser.

"Your turn."

Watching Fraser try to relax was kind of funny. It was like he was following a   
diagram of how to do it, like he'd read a chart somewhere that said: "A) drop your   
shoulders, 2) loosen your muscles, F) close your eyes and breathe deeply." Ray   
watched him try it for a little while and decided that all the staring was probably   
making Fraser more nervous. Plus Ray's brain was working up to another one of   
those "he's gorgeous!" flashes of insight, which Ray really did not need at this   
juncture.

He tipped his head back and closed his eyes. It seemed like the kind of   
conversation that would go better if he didn't have to look at Fraser.

"Just think about how you feel after you come. Relaxed, right? Like your body   
doesn't have any bones in it, and you're just this big warm puddle of goo, and all   
your happy little nerve endings are zipping around saying, 'Hey, you just got laid!   
Enjoy!' Try that."

He heard Fraser take a deep breath, and then sink more deeply into the couch   
with a little rustle and a contented sigh. A familiar sigh, like the one Fraser   
usually gave when Ray switched off the light and snuggled next to him in bed,   
resting his head on Fraser's shoulder.

Okay, it would be just like ripping off a Band-Aid. He'd explain it quickly. "You   
ever notice that you and I look kinda weird together?"

"What?" Fraser asked him. This time it was his hand on Ray's thigh, and Ray   
pulled away a little at his touch. Fraser's hand was so warm.

There was a soft rustle of fabric, and he figured Fraser was leaning back,   
surprised. He'd probably tensed up again, too.

"Fraser, relax. It's just a question."

"It sounds like a very serious question."

"Yeah, well, maybe." Ray shrugged. He kept his eyes closed. "Just let me say   
this, okay? And then you can decide if it is or it isn't."

He started unbuttoning his shirt. It was new, right out of the package, so the   
fabric was a little stiff and it was tough to work the buttons through the   
buttonholes. He kept going until he'd got the shirt open and the ends tugged out   
of his pants. Then he went to work on his jeans.

It was harder than he'd thought to do this with his eyes shut. He'd gotten   
undressed in the dark plenty of times. But this was strange and awkward and he   
could feel the confusion radiating off Fraser. The problem was, he didn't know   
how else to explain. Now that he was in the moment he knew those Robert   
DeNiro monologues wouldn't work. Fraser would argue with him, convince him   
that he was wrong. And yeah, he wanted to be convinced, but Fraser had to   
understand. He had to make Fraser _see_.

Finally he was down to his jockey shorts. Now that he was nearly naked, Ray felt   
like he could open his eyes.

Fraser was staring at him, looking really worried. Ray touched his cheek, and   
used his thumb to smooth out the little furrow in Fraser's brow. "It's okay," he   
murmured, and then he fumbled for the buttons on Fraser's shirt. "Take this off."

"Ray, what in the world-?"

"Just do it. I gotta show you something."

Fraser made another noise of protest--he sounded a lot like Dief when the wolf   
was grumbling about something--but he worked his shirt open while Ray undid   
his pants. Fraser's jeans were a little (okay, a lot) tight, and Ray had to get him to   
lift his hips a bit to work them off, but eventually they were both wearing nothing   
but underwear. They looked like morons, but Ray figured that might help drive his   
point home. Even in old-fashioned starched boxers, Fraser looked like a million   
bucks. Ray looked like something you'd see at a roadside carnival.

Ray stood up and caught Fraser's hand, pulling him up. He led Fraser over to the   
big mirror in the hallway.

"What do you see?"

Fraser met Ray's eyes in the mirror and raised his eyebrows.

"Ray, I don't know what you're asking."

"Just tell me what you see."

Fraser sighed and looked at his reflection quickly. "I see a human male,   
thirty-seven years old, in good health and at an appropriate stage of   
development. I've obviously suffered some physical trauma," he added, his   
fingertips wandering over a couple of the old scars on his chest, "but otherwise   
my body is in good condition. Is that what you're asking?"

Ray shook his head. It figured that Fraser, who was so smart in other ways,   
wouldn't twig to this. "You think of yourself as good-looking?"

"I...err, I'm not quite sure I understand the question." Fraser was blushing   
furiously now. Ray knew from personal experience that once Fraser got started,   
the blush would spread from his face down his throat, across his chest   
and...lower. When he let go or he couldn't help it, Fraser did everything with his   
whole body, even embarrassment. And right now he was definitely embarrassed.   
Maybe feeling a little betrayed, too. Like he thought the way he looked wasn't   
something they were supposed to discuss.

Ray pushed on, not looking at his own face in the mirror as he hovered over   
Fraser's shoulder.

"It's a pretty straightforward question, Fraser. Do you think you're attractive?"

Fraser rubbed at his eyebrow. "Why is that important?"

"Because it is," Ray said, smacking his palm against the glass. "It is, okay? You   
have to know what you look like. How people react to you. You gotta know."

"Is it important to you?"

Ray's heart stuttered a little. There was so much in Fraser's voice, in the way he   
asked the question. Ray knew words could be loaded, but that was a fucking   
dump truck. He swallowed.

"Fraser...yeah, it's important" he sighed. "I mean, you and me, us, we've been hot and   
heavy for a little while. And you gotta know that I think you're--that I think you're   
beautiful, okay?"

He winced. It sounded really queer when he said it out loud like that. And not in a   
gay way--gay was pretty much a given. But it sounded _weird_ , too. He'd   
told Stella over and over for years how beautiful she was. He never thought he'd   
ever say it to anyone else. Or mean it more.

Fraser sighed and his shoulders relaxed. Ray couldn't even begin to figure out   
why the hell Fraser was so relieved.

"I'm glad, Ray," he said, turning to wrap his arms around Ray's neck. His chest   
was solid and warm against Ray's and Ray closed his eyes for a second. "I   
thought...well, I wasn't quite sure what I thought, but I certainly don't understand   
why you feel it necessary to point out that I--that you--what I mean is, I've   
known for quite some time that you find me appealing. And I'm glad you take   
pleasure in my appearance." He brushed his lips across Ray's, and Ray shivered   
a little. "I find you very appealing as well."

At the warm, wet touch of Fraser's tongue against his lips, Ray broke away   
roughly and folded his arms across his chest. "Well, you shouldn't."

Fraser looked stunned. He opened his mouth but no sound came out.

Ray grabbed Fraser's shoulders and twisted him around to face the mirror again.   
He nudged Fraser aside a little so they could both fit in front of the mirror.

"Don't you get it? We're not in the same league. You're--" he gestured to Fraser's broad, muscular chest, his tight stomach, his firm legs, even his cock, a dark, heavy weight against the thin white material of his boxers.   
"And I'm--"

Not much to point at here. Just a lot of knobby limbs, a weird ribcage, skin that   
looked sallow under the bright overhead light in the hall. That light showed the   
deep lines forming in his face, too, and the way his belly was starting to thicken.   
In ten years he'd just be some skinny freak with a potbelly and a wrinkled-up   
mug.

Fraser caught his hand in a grip so tight it was almost painful. "What are you   
saying about yourself?" he asked, and Ray had never, ever heard that tone in   
Fraser's voice before. "What do you mean?"

"I'm not--" Ray dropped his head and sighed. Great, Fraser was pissed off. He   
wouldn't even try to listen to Ray now. Stubborn bastard. "Look, I'm sorry. I knew   
this was a bad idea. You're not going to understand."

"Understand what?" Fraser's voice was a little softer now, a little more gentle.   
He'd eased up a bit and now he was holding Ray's hand instead of crushing it.   
"Ray, please, you have to know that you are--"

Ray shook his head and pulled his hand away. "I know guys like you don't end up   
settling for guys like me, okay? I thought about this a lot and I just don't want to   
see you tie yourself down to something that's not right for you. That's all."

He turned back to the mirror almost reluctantly, and so did Fraser. Ray stared   
down at their feet: his were narrow, knobby, with weirdly long toes. Fraser's were   
like every other part of his body: big, white, and perfectly-formed. A little square,   
maybe, but they made him look solid, like he could bear up under anything. Good   
feet, feet made for a guy who could probably carry a dead caribou across a   
thousand miles of tundra.

Fraser was working something out. When Ray finally risked a glance up to his   
face he could see the gears turning away, those smoke-grey eyes dark and   
cloudy with some emotion Ray couldn't quite pin down. Sorrow or anger or some   
deep denial. He turned away and kept looking at their mismatched feet.

Finally Fraser spoke up. "Is this about Stella? Has she said something to you?"

Ray flinched. "No," he said quickly. "No, you've got the wrong idea. Stella never   
said a word. High school, maybe, she used to tease me about being too skinny,   
but we kinda grew out of that. It was later. The way people would look at us at   
parties, on the street. The way guys would look at _her_ , and then look back   
at me like I was nothing, like I was her chauffeur. When we got married I was just   
a dumb kid, didn't know the way things worked. Now she's dating these lawyer   
types and they're all either rich or good-looking. Or both. They're on her level.   
They fit with her. Everybody finds someone they fit with."

"And you don't think we fit."

Ray shrugged. "I just keep thinking about your friend. That Smithbauer guy. And   
he was...well, I got a look at him in the bar. Seemed like the kind of guy you   
should be with."

"Mark?" Fraser rubbed at his eyebrow, and man, those gears were going into   
overdrive. "Ray, I assure you, Mark and I are friends. That's all. And I invited you   
out with us."

Ray shrugged. "I didn't feel much like being a third wheel. And still. Big,   
handsome guy like that, athletic, a hockey player, old friend of yours. It seems   
like a good fit."

Fraser was frowning, and he looked, shit, pretty angry. "You think I would be   
unfaithful to you? Or that I'd give up what we have to be with a man who-" He cut   
himself off suddenly, going pale. "You planned to end our relationship tonight.   
Over this." Fraser said it like it was a flat fact, no room for error.

And his face--God, he looked broken, somehow. Like none of this had ever   
occurred to him. And how did a guy get through thirty-six years and get a   
fuckload of scars without figuring out the way the world worked?

"No, you and me fit in lots of ways, Fraser. Cops and buddies and   
partners, right? And we're both freaks. Only you don't look it, especially once you   
get out of that uniform." Ray thought about Fraser squirming against the   
mattress, sweaty and shaking and begging Ray to put his tongue or his cock or   
fingers inside him. Yeah, once Fraser was out of his tunic he looked better than   
pretty much anyone Ray had ever met.

"It's just that... someday someone is going to come along who fits with you better.   
I know how people think, and how tough it's gonna be for us later if we--" But he   
couldn't finish that thought. He was going to say, _If we go up to Canada,_   
but Fraser hadn't brought that up, and this was hard enough for Ray to say   
without talking about _that_ , about all the might-have-beens.

He took a deep breath. "And when you meet somebody better I'm not going to be   
able to live with it, Fraser. I got left in the dust once already and it almost killed   
me."

"Ray," Fraser rested his hands on Ray's bare shoulders. He shivered a little; it   
was chilly in his apartment and they were both standing around practically naked.   
But Fraser's hands were warm. Fraser's hands had always felt so good on him.

Ray tried to meet Fraser's eyes. He owed him that, at least. And Fraser didn't   
look angry anymore, just tired and sad.

"Ray, are you really concerned that I'm going to leave you for someone else?"

_I'm concerned that you're going to leave me. Period._ But Ray managed   
not to say that part out loud.

"You have to realize how utterly ridiculous that is." Fraser seemed pretty serious.   
In fact, Ray didn't think he'd ever seen Fraser look quite so serious, except   
maybe when Fraser was asking him to jump off a building or something. "I--I love   
you. I'm not going to leave you for someone just because they meet some arbitrary social standard of physical appearance. And certainly not for Mark."

Ray hadn't heard much after Fraser's stuttered _I love you_. They hadn't   
said that to each other. He didn't think it was something they were supposed to   
say. Fraser had been so careful never to push, never to ask for much more than   
what he knew Ray could give him: a blowjob, or a kiss, or a night out at a hockey   
game. And Ray hadn't wanted to press his luck. He already knew Fraser was   
way out of his league. Love seemed too much to ask for. He already expected   
hot dogs and got caviar; love would be a four-course meal. Worse and better and   
way, way too much.

"You don't have to say that."

Fraser looked shocked. "Pardon me?"

"Love. You don't have to say things like that, y'know."

"I want to say it." Fraser's face had hardened up and yeah, there was that   
stubborn look in his eyes. "It's my right."

"Your _right?_ "

Fraser nodded and went into parade rest. Amazing: he was almost naked and he   
still managed to look like he was wearing his full dress uniform, radiating power   
and self-confidence. "I think I've earned the right to tell you how I feel, Ray."

Ray knew his mouth was hanging open. He probably looked like a trout. What   
was this about rights and earning stuff? He usually didn't need a road map to   
navigate a conversation with Fraser, but this whole thing was going right over his   
head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Fraser said, that hard cast to his jaw still making it look like his face   
was cut from granite, "that I have loved people before, Ray. Not many, but   
enough to recognize that what I feel for you is fundamentally different. It's better."

Wow, Fraser's eyes were warm. Just like his hands and his feet and his whole   
hot body. Kind eyes, gentle eyes. Eyes that said, _You're a freak but I love you  
anyway._ And why the hell had Ray been willing to throw that away, even if it   
wasn't going to last forever?

"But that doesn't change the fact that you're--" Ray waved at the mirror, "and   
I'm--"

Fraser cocked his head to one side thoughtfully, and brushed his hand against   
the elastic waistband of Ray's boxers. "Would you remove those, please?"

Ray put a protective hand on the waistband of his shorts. "Uh, why?"

"I'll take mine off if it would make you feel more comfortable."

Ray snorted. "Fraser, that would not make me feel more comfortable. Hot   
n'bothered, yeah, but definitely not comfortable."

Fraser looked confused for a second--he seemed to be running 'hot and   
bothered?' through his Chicago-to-Canadian dictionary--but he simply fixed Ray   
with one of those level Mountie stares and said, "I took off my clothing when you   
asked."

"Okay, okay." Ray skinned out of his shorts and tossed them in the vague   
direction of the living room where their other clothes were piled. "Logic ain't   
buddies, Fraser."

When he looked up again, Fraser was naked, and Ray didn't need that big club   
over the head to recognize that, yes, Fraser was perfect. Ray had seen a lot of   
Fraser's body and, while he still couldn't believe how fucking beautiful he was,   
none of that had anything on the way Fraser looked right now.

When Fraser finally met Ray's eyes he shook his head and chuckled to himself,   
and padded off down the hall. Ray blinked. What the fuck? Had Fraser just left   
him here? He heard Fraser rustling around in the living room   
( _please please please don't be looking for a camera_ ) and when Fraser   
came back he held Ray's glasses out to him.

"Oh, Christ, Fraser, this is bad enough without everything being in focus."

"Indulge me."

Ray knew another appeal to logic, or at least fairness, was right around the   
corner, so he put on the stupid glasses. He had to blink once or twice until his   
eyes adjusted and, hey, maybe this wasn't such a terrible idea. Fraser was   
certainly a lot clearer; he'd gone from a slightly fuzzy white outline (gorgeous) to   
a sharply detailed body (gorgeouser).

The light in the hallway was fairly bright, so Ray could pick out all the familiar   
scars and nicks and little cuts Fraser had. That weird one on his chest from the   
otter. A couple old cuts from glass on his upper arm, that rough, ridged white   
pattern on his pectoral from being dragged behind a jeep over an unpaved road.   
And lower, on his knees, a surgery scar from when he'd broken his leg, and a   
newer stab wound that had happened a couple of years before Ray had met him.   
Fraser didn't turn, but Ray got a good look at Fraser's profile in the mirror, and   
just above the swell of that incredible ass he knew there was a really nasty scar,   
a cluster of damaged nerves and tissue right above the end of his spinal column.

Ray hadn't known what it was that first night they spent together:   
it was just another part of Fraser, something he felt with his lips and tongue on   
his way south. It wasn't until later, in the shower, that Ray had asked about it.

"A gunshot wound," Fraser had told him as Ray rubbed shampoo into his hair. "It   
hasn't healed very well."

Ray had touched the scar with wet fingers. It seemed so out of place on Fraser's   
smooth skin. All of his other scars were old and faded, or small, like Ray's. But   
this one...this one was ugly. It was maybe the only ugly thing about Fraser. He'd   
bent to kiss it in the shower, and he'd felt Fraser shiver.

They'd gone back to bed and Fraser had fallen asleep right away, curled up tight   
next to Ray. Lying there in the dark pressed up close against Fraser, breathing in   
his warm scent, listening to his heartbeat, Ray had put his hand over that scar and   
covered it up with his palm. It just didn't seem to fit.

"Ray," Fraser said, and Ray blinked.

"What?"

Fraser sighed and turned Ray slightly so he was facing away from Fraser and   
staring right into the mirror. "You asked me to describe myself. I'd like you to do   
the same."

Ray shook his head. No way. No way was he going to put all of this shit into   
words. He knew that whatever he said, Fraser would come up with some kind of   
counter-argument and they'd just end up yelling at each other. He scowled at   
Mirror-Fraser, but Fraser just stared right back at him. And Ray knew from   
experience that it was easier to win a staring contest with a cat than with Fraser.

Ray surrendered with a sigh. "I'm getting older. I never really liked the way I look,   
But now it's harder now to ignore all the bad parts."

"Such as?" Fraser asked gently. He was listening intently, but not like he was   
filing points away so he could argue about them. He was listening like he was   
really trying to understand.

Ray pointed at his belly, his weird ropey arms, his knobby feet. It seemed easier   
to point than explain. Fraser watched his pantomime in the mirror, frowning when   
Ray gestured at his cock.

"Why--?"

"It's too big." Ray blushed. "It looks freaky, doesn't it? I mean, I'm tall enough, but   
I'm not a big guy like you. A dick this size looks wrong on me. Guys back in   
school said...well, nevermind. But you know that comparing thing teenagers do?"

Fraser looked back at him blankly. Right. Fraser had grown up in a meatlocker a   
thousand miles from anywhere. "Uh, y'know, with your buddies? I was always the   
freak."

"Ray, aren't large genitals traditionally a source of pride and validation?"

"Not when the rest of you is about 5'4" and weighs less than a hundred pounds. I   
didn't get my height until eleventh grade. This goddamn thing made me look like   
a Chihuahua with a Mastiff's dick."

Fraser stared down at Ray's cock. Which made Ray wonder if Fraser had ever   
actually noticed how big Ray was. Fraser had spent a lot of time on and around   
Ray's dick, of course: stroking, sucking, rubbing up against it, but maybe it'd   
never occurred to him to think about size. Ray sure had, though. Last weekend--  
Christ, it had only been last weekend?--when he had first fucked Fraser, he'd   
been terrified. He'd spent a long time (and a lot of lube) opening Fraser up, and   
when he was pushing in he'd asked over and over again if Fraser was okay.   
Fraser'd just grunted and strained a little and muttered something about, "A   
moment, if you please." And then he'd taken it like a pro.

It looked like Fraser was considering dick size now. He kept staring down at Ray   
with a little frown on his face, and Ray hoped he wasn't about to announce that,   
yep, Ray was right and he really didn't feel like getting down and dirty with Ray   
and his freakish cock anymore. Finally Fraser met his eyes in the mirror and   
smiled a little.

"Ray, there's absolutely no cause to think that you're abnormal in any way.   
Granted, I don't have a lot of experience with the relative size of men's genitalia,   
and you are perhaps on the large side, but I don't see that as a problem. And   
since we both find pleasure in...certain acts," and yep, right on cue there was that   
blush, the one Fraser could never really keep at bay whenever he talked about   
sex, "I'm not sure why it's relevant. I think you have a beautiful penis, Ray."

Wow. Ray was pretty impressed that Fraser had gotten that out. Ray wasn't sure   
even he'd be able to say the same thing to Fraser with a straight face, but then   
Fraser was kind of a freak. "Uh, thanks. I like yours, too."

He was playing it cool, of course. Ray really liked Fraser's dick, even though it   
had taken a little getting used to at first, what with all that extra skin at the tip. But   
now Ray associated it with all kinds of good feelings: comfort and pleasure,   
mind-blowingly good sex, and a weird, warm kind of feeling that said 'home' even   
though a dick was a dick was a dick and Fraser's was an appendage just like   
every other guy's. It was a nice appendage, though.

"What else don't you like about the way you look?"

"What, you want a full list?"

Fraser frowned. "I'm trying to understand you, Ray. I knew you were self-  
conscious, but I attributed that to your misgivings about engaging in sexual   
activity with a man."

"Wait, you thought I felt weird about fucking a guy?"

"I wouldn't put it in those terms," Fraser said, "but you never seemed very   
comfortable about...this. You were married to a woman for a long time. And you   
seemed very reluctant to remain with me in the bar last night."

"That wasn't why I didn't want to stay," Ray cut him off. "And I picked that bar,   
remember? I'm okay with being queer, Fraser. I've been with guys before, but   
not...not guys like you. I just don't know what you see in me."

"Back to the 'not fitting' issue, hmmm?"

Ray flashed him a look of warning. "Don't do that 'hmmm' shit, okay? This is   
serious."

Fraser grew solemn again. Weirdo thought all of this was something he could   
joke about. Which it was, maybe, but Ray sure as hell wasn't in the mood to   
laugh. Not when he was standing naked next to Fraser in front of a full-length   
mirror. The perfect illustration of why they didn't fit was right there, fucking staring   
at him in the face. He bet Smithbauer looked great naked.

Fraser moved behind Ray, and Ray couldn't help the shiver that ran up and down   
his spine at the draught of air, and the sensation of Fraser standing so close   
behind him. He made himself look in the mirror, and yep, still a frog. Fraser   
looked like a model or a movie star, and Ray was just pale and yellow and sad-  
looking. And God, his thick-framed glasses! They made him look like such a   
geek. He really should get better frames or something.

Fraser edged forward a little until his chest brushed Ray's bare skin, and his   
breath ghosted hotly across the back of Ray's neck.

"Will you do something for me?" His voice was lower, sexy. Seductive. Fuck.

Ray swallowed hard. "Sure."

"Will you smile?"

Ray twisted his head around to scowl at Fraser. "The hell?"

"Please," he said, staring intently at their reflection in the mirror. "Smile."

Ray shook his head and scratched at his shoulder, just above his tattoo. He tried   
out a smile a couple of times but he looked demented. "I look like I'm sick or   
something, Fraser."

"Hmmm," Fraser hummed, and glanced at him. "Well, let's try a different   
approach. Do you remember the day we met?

"Yeah, those near-death experiences tend to stick with me."

Fraser put his hands on Ray's shoulders and started to knead the tense muscles   
there. "Do you remember the ducks?"

Ray closed his eyes and dropped his head, breathing deeply through his nose.   
Fraser was good at neck rubs. "Yeah, those little rubber duckies were   
everywhere. I told Huey that they were evidence and had to be bagged and   
tagged. Funniest damn thing in the world, Huey out there on the lake with a pool   
skimmer."

Fraser's hands were working their magic: he could feel himself relaxing, getting   
into the rhythm of Fraser's massage, those big broad hands moving over his skin   
and easing away all the tension he'd been carrying the whole weekend.

"Think of that, then. Good. Now look."

Ray didn't give himself time to think. He looked up and caught himself grinning in   
the mirror. He thought about the ducks, yeah, but he also thought about the first   
time Fraser had kissed him--in the GTO, just after Christmas, his mouth soft and   
hot against Ray's. It had shocked the hell out of him and thrilled him at the same   
time. At that moment, the moment when Fraser put his mouth on his and sealed   
their lips together, Ray had felt like a goddamn superhero.

He put that into his smile. It was his same old shit-eating grin, but Fraser was   
looking at him in the mirror with a funny light in his eyes. He was smiling, too, but   
without showing his teeth. And Ray really liked Fraser's soft, secret smiles.

"Look! Do you see it?" Fraser asked him, drawing Ray's attention back to his own   
face. "Do you see how amazing you are?"

Ray could, kind of. When he smiled his whole face seemed brighter, and maybe   
those wrinkles stood out a little more clearly, but he had a good smile, good   
teeth, and when he wasn't doing that tight, fake nutcase grin he actually seemed   
kind of...handsome. Plus there was the way Fraser was looking at him right now,   
like he thought Ray's smile lit up all of Chicago.

"I love your smile," Fraser said, "And your eyes. They're beautiful."

Ray snorted. "Are not. Not with these," he said, tapping at his glasses. Fraser   
shook his head.

"I find them endearing."

"You would."

"Yes, I would," Fraser murmured, stepping closer to wrap his arms around Ray's   
chest. He dropped his head to pressed a wet kiss to the back of Ray's neck, then   
rested his chin on Ray's shoulder.

Ray arched his neck back a little to nip at Fraser's ear. "I'm glad, y'know. That   
you like me."

He felt Fraser smile against his cheek. "I do, very much so. I should have told   
you earlier." He cleared his throat, and Ray realized that this was all new territory   
for Fraser. He'd probably never talked like this with anyone before. _It's my  
right_, Fraser had said. So Ray would let him have his say, if that was what he   
wanted to do. He let the silence go for a couple more beats and, like always,   
Fraser found the courage to go on.

"I like the way you look very much," he said, his voice still low and soft. "You're   
strong and capable, and you are so very graceful. I like to watch you move."

Ray relaxed a little and leaned back against him, and Fraser began to rock them   
back and forth, slowly, to the rhythm of his words.

"I've always enjoyed watching you, Ray. When you dance, when you walk, even   
when you argue with someone on the telephone. You're very expressive. I love   
how utterly unselfconscious you are, and I envy you that ability to be so at ease   
in your own skin. I've never felt that way. And I thought-" Fraser's voice hitched a   
little and he stiffened slightly, shifting his body away. "I thought our differences   
complemented one another. I'm sorry you see them as a point of division."

"I don't," Ray said quickly, settling his arms over Fraser's and pulling him back,   
pulling him closer, until they were touching everywhere. It didn't matter that   
Fraser couldn't dance. He had the right moves when it counted. "Well, I did, but   
you got me thinking. Maybe that's just left over insecurity or something. I guess   
I'm used to getting dumped. I'm just afraid you're going to go away someday."

Fraser bent his head to nuzzle Ray's jaw. "I'm afraid you are, too," he said   
quietly. "I couldn't bear it if you left me."

Ray's eyes widened. "You...you worry about that?"

Fraser nodded; he watched that dark head bob in the mirror. "Very much so.   
Having had this, having been with you...I don't think I could go back to the way   
things were before. You're-" He stuttered to a halt, swallowed hard, and kept   
going. "You're my second chance. My last chance, I think."

Ray twisted around until they were facing each other. Fraser wouldn't meet his   
eyes; he was shaking slightly, and it looked like he thought he'd said way too   
much. Ray put his hand on Fraser's cheek and gently tilted his head up. God, he   
hadn't had the first fucking clue.

"So we're both afraid," he said. "Think that's something we can work on?"

Fraser pulled him close and wrapped his arms around him tightly. He buried his   
nose in Ray's neck and nodded. Ray breathed in the warm, familiar smells of   
Fraser, reveling in the way they still fit together.

"I do, Ray. I do."

They kissed for a long, breathless moment. Fraser was so warm and so close, so   
real and so beautiful. He was breathing hard, practically gasping into Ray's ear   
when he pulled away to whisper, "Turn around." His voice low and rough with   
desire. Ray swallowed and turned in Fraser's arms, his attention going right to   
the mirror.

Fraser was wild-eyed, his perfect hair mussed where Ray's hands had been stroking   
through it. And Ray's image looked shell-shocked: his face was flushed and sweaty, his lips swollen from their kiss, his dick straining up and jutting out from his body. Fraser wrapped his arms around Ray's chest.

"You have no idea what the sight of you like this does to me," he whispered in   
Ray's ear, and Ray shivered. Fraser trailed his hand down over Ray's ribcage,   
his fingertips barely brushing Ray's sensitive belly before Fraser wrapped his   
hand around his dick.

He couldn't hold back his gasp of surprise. Watching Fraser's hand move down   
over his body in the mirror was weirdly pornographic. Almost like watching a   
movie, but if this was a movie he wouldn't get to feel the way Fraser's hand just   
glided over his skin, his grip firm and rough. He rubbed Ray's nipple with his free   
hand and licked a broad swipe up the side of his neck.

"God," Ray murmured, tipping his head back to rest against Fraser's shoulder.   
He couldn't watch, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from the mirror. This was--

Yeah, Fraser knew what he was doing. He started pumping his hand, stroking   
Ray in the tight circle of his fist. Ray couldn't help making small, jerky movements   
with his hips, each delicious slide of Fraser's hand bringing him little sparks and   
snaps of pleasure. He lifted his arms up and clasped his hands around Fraser's   
neck. His whole body was one long, live wire; his chest was heaving, his hips   
pumping into Fraser's fist and then back to where Fraser's hard, hot cock pushed   
against his hip. Fraser flicked his tongue over his thumb, wetting it a bit, and   
brushed it over Ray's nipple. Ray shivered, feeling like he'd just gotten zapped   
with an electric current that went right from his nipple down to his balls. He   
dropped his arms and put his hand over Fraser's. Together they jerked him,   
moving in sync to the creak of the floorboards and the soft little gasps and grunts   
of pleasure Ray kept making.

"We should...I want to..." he huffed, trying to find the words for what he wanted.   
He felt Fraser smile against his neck.

"What would you like to do?"

Ray groaned, pushing his hips forward into Fraser's hand. He was about five   
seconds away from coming, less if Fraser kept asking him questions in that sex-  
rough voice.

And Ray got another one of those clubbed-over-the-head moments of insight. He   
knew what he wanted. He'd finally agreed to fuck Fraser last weekend, but he   
hadn't let Fraser fuck him. It had just been too much. Like letting Fraser in that   
last little bit would ruin Ray for anyone else. If he let Fraser do this, it meant he   
was all in. No going back.

"I want you to fuck me," Ray ground out, and Fraser sucked in a deep breath. He   
met Ray's eyes in the mirror.

"You're sure?"

Ray nodded. "Yeah, I...yeah."

Abruptly Fraser's hand fell away. He put his hand to Ray's side ( _hot hot so  
damn hot_) and tugged his chin toward him. Ray opened his mouth and Fraser   
kissed him, his slick tongue moving against Ray's.

"Stay here. Stay right here," he said. "I'll be right back." Sounded like the Mountie   
was having a little trouble talking. Ray couldn't hide his smile.

Fraser was back a second later with a foil-wrapped condom and the lube. Ray   
headed toward the bedroom, but Fraser caught his upper arm, his thumb stroking   
over Ray's tattoo in gentle, circular motions.

"Not there. Here," Fraser said, nodding at the mirror. Ray felt his knees go a little   
weak. Christ! Fraser wanted Ray to _watch_ while they fucked? Ray closed   
his eyes, swallowed hard, and leaned his forehead against the mirror, his palms   
pressed against the smooth, cool glass. He shivered a little, waiting.

Fraser set the slick and the condom package on the floor within easy reach and   
stroked Ray's back, pressing up close behind him. "Shhhh," he said, dropping a   
kiss between Ray's shoulder blades. "Just watch."

Ray opened his eyes just as Fraser's hand moved lower, following the deep   
groove of his spine until he reached the swell of Ray's buttocks. His fingers were   
slick from the lube; they left a cool trail of wet down Ray's back. He tensed   
slightly and pressed against Fraser. Fraser's fingers hovered for a moment and   
then slipped...down.

Ray panted and widened his stance a little. Fraser's finger was just brushing his   
hole and it felt, God, great. "C'mon, Frase," he muttered, and Fraser, smart guy   
that he was, seemed to take the hint. He pushed his finger in and Ray sighed,   
feeling himself stretch and burn a little. Fraser's fingers were big. Not as long as   
Ray's, but still. Big. He grunted. "'S good, good. C'mon."

When Fraser added a second finger Ray dropped his head forward, trying to get   
his breathing under control. He pushed back again and growled, "Come   
_on_!"

And then Fraser's fingers slipped out and he heard the foil on the condom   
package rip.

His palms were leaving sticky, sweaty handprints all over the mirror. He spread   
his legs wide, standing almost like a perp would during a pat-down, and then   
tilted his hips up a bit. He'd never done it standing before. He wasn't sure if it   
would hurt, or--

Fraser paused behind him, and an uncertain note crept into his voice. "Are you   
sure? Perhaps I was hasty. This might be more comfortable on the bed."

Ray shook his head. "You wanted me to see this, right? So show me."

Fraser stared at him for a second or two. Then he moved closer, closer, and   
_in_. Ray gasped and slapped his palm against the mirror. His legs felt   
wobbly and his dick had softened, but Fraser was stretching him open, coming   
closer to that amazing place inside, that place where everything...there. Oh, God,   
right _there_.

"Fraser, do not move," Ray said. "Just...don't move." He opened his eyes. They   
were so close to the mirror he didn't really even need his glasses; he and Fraser   
were both clear, eyes bright and drugged-looking, sweat dampening the hair at   
their temples. Fraser looked at him and shifted his hands down to hold Ray's   
hips.

And he began to thrust.

Fuck, when this was over Ray was really going to have to sit down--if he could--  
and ask himself some tough questions about why he hadn't let Fraser to fuck him   
before. This was...Jesus, feeling Fraser work in and out of his body, that hot,   
heavy, almost-painful slide with each stroke out, each thrust in. And the strength   
in those hard hands that gripped his hips and moved him in a counterpoint   
rhythm, twisting him slightly counter-clockwise to create more heat and friction.   
They should go dancing sometime. Fraser was a fucking _terrific_ dancer.

He was hard again, his cock leaking and begging for something to thrust against.   
Ray pried one hand off the glass and began to jerk his dick in time to Fraser's thrusts. Someone was grunting--it was probably him, but he couldn't tell for sure--and he felt sweat trickle down his back and slide between them, making the space between their bodies hot and slippery.

"God, Jesus, I-"

But Fraser wasn't really paying attention to what Ray was saying. He was   
watching Ray's face in the mirror, and his expression was so intense Ray had to   
squeeze his eyes shut. He could come like this, just from watching Fraser's face   
as he fucked him. He looked so serious, eyes glazed over in pleasure. Like   
people did sometimes in prayer. And maybe for Fraser this qualified as a   
religious experience. It sure did for him.

He pressed back, harder, disrupting Fraser's careful rhythm to bring their bodies   
together with more force. He wanted Fraser to let go. To _let go_ and fuck   
him and drive everything else away, all his bullshit fears and insecurities until   
there was just this. Just Fraser, inside him, and the look on their faces in the   
mirror.

"Now," Ray said, and Fraser got it. His fingers dug into Ray's hips and he pushed   
up into Ray in hard, short thrusts that almost lifted Ray off his toes. Fraser made   
a half-strangled sound, something between a whisper and a sigh. Ray closed his   
eyes, dropped his head, and came, and came, and came, streaks of his come   
painting the mirror.

Fraser sagged against him, tipping Ray forward until his forehead pressed   
against the smooth, cool glass. They'd both melted, it felt like, becoming   
boneless and heavy at the same time. Ray pushed himself up unsteadily, and   
Fraser kissed his neck, cradling Ray with clumsy, uncoordinated movements of   
his arms.

Ray met Fraser's eyes in the mirror.

"That was--"

Fraser smiled and shook his head. "Do you see now?"

"Yeah" he said quietly. "I see."

********

Ray snapped off the lights in the living room and checked to make sure the door   
was locked. He heard water running through the pipes in the bathroom and paused in the hallway, smiling to himself. Funny the way a good orgasm could give a guy a whole new   
perspective on things.

He slipped into bed just as Fraser came out of the bathroom. Ray had taken off   
his glasses so Fraser was a dim white outline again, his pale body glowing faintly   
in the light filtering in from off the street. Ray moved over a little, leaving space in   
the bed beside him.

The mattress dipped as Fraser settled in, and then suddenly Ray was wrapped   
up in his warm, strong hug. The sensation of Fraser's arms around him, of being   
held so tightly against that broad, solid chest, was familiar by now. Comforting.   
Ray squeezed his eyes shut, hugging back as hard as he could. Fraser grunted   
softly, happily, and pressed a kiss to the side of Ray's neck.

"You okay?"

"Yes," Fraser whispered, his voice muffled. "Are you?"

Another dump-truck question. Ray sighed and hugged Fraser back, tight. "Yeah,   
I'm good. Sorry I'm such a headcase."

"You're not." And wow, Fraser hadn't even hesitated. "You're beautiful. I wish you   
could believe that."

"Well," Ray said, stroking the warm, smooth skin of Fraser's shoulder, "I know   
this Boy Scout type, and he's pretty trustworthy. He never lies, cheats or steals,   
and he helps little old ladies across the street. This guy? Well, he thinks I'm okay.   
Guess I should trust him."

"I think he'd prefer that you trust yourself."

Ray stopped the slow stroking movement of his hand and rolled over to lay half-  
on top Fraser's chest. He could hear the steady drum of Fraser's heart pumping   
away right under his ear. "I love you," he said quietly, and Fraser's hand trembled   
a little against Ray's bare back.

"I love you too, Ray."

Ray nodded. Fraser's heartbeat was really loud, and the steady _thump thump  
thump_ made Ray feel safe and relaxed and really, really sleepy. "I know that   
now," he murmured, his voice thick and drowsy. "And the next time I freak out   
over some hockey player, or I think you maybe deserve someone a little better-  
looking, I'll try to remember. Okay?"

Fraser sighed. "Okay, Ray. And if you need a reminder, perhaps I'll tape a note   
to the mirror."

"You're a funny guy," Ray said, nudging Fraser with his knee, wrapping himself   
around him more securely.

"So I've been told. Goodnight, Ray."

"'Night, Fraser."

And Ray drifted off to sleep, smiling faintly.

the end

  
 

* * *

End Mirror Image by Nos4a2no9 

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